


Elfroot Tea for the Healer

by HeroMaggie



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is sick, Gen, Merrill is lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A phlegmy cough followed by a low groan caught her attention. Pulling her staff from her back and calling forth a tendril of magic, she made her way across the clinic to a shadowed alcove. Slowly pushing the tattered curtain aside, Merrill peeked in and saw Anders under a pile of worn blankets.</p>
<p>Merrill had thought she was in Lowtown...or maybe the docks...but no, it was definitely Darktown. And, as fate would have it, right in front of Anders' clinic. Finding Anders sick, Merrill does the one thing she can think to do - stays to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elfroot Tea for the Healer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/gifts).



> Because truly, there isn't enough Merrill stuff out there. And while she's a bit of a flibbertigibbet, she still a good friend.
> 
> For Penbrydd - who is sick and perhaps could use a smile even if he won't admit it.

Dripping water and the smell of moldy toadstools were Merrill's first hints that she wasn't in Lowtown anymore. Or the docks. Which was where she had been last, if she remembered correctly. She had been talking to that nice man, the one with one eye and the most interesting scars on his cheek. Had that been the docks? She honestly couldn't remember.

Which, if she was going to be honest with herself, wasn't too out of the ordinary.

Four years in Kirkwall and she still couldn't remember if she should make a left or a right when coming out of the Hanged Man. She tried, she did. Every day, on her way to see her closest friends, she would take note of the buildings. But when she left the tavern at night it was as if the entire city had rearranged itself.

For a while, the ball of string idea had worked. Till the locals got tired of tripping and started snipping it.

She stopped moving, closing her eyes to breath. It wouldn't do to get upset while lost. Especially in Darktown – which was where she was if her nose was any indication. In and out, in and out, she breathed the fetid air and told herself to just calm down. Panicking resulted in getting even more lost.

Or possibly ending up back in the Viscount's garden.

A few good breaths, some quiet prayers to Mythal for direction and aid, and Merrill opened her eyes again. And found herself standing outside of Ander's clinic.

It felt like fate.

***

The clinic was uncharacteristically quiet. Not a single sick or injured person occupied the cots. No helpers paced the floor. None of their friends were sitting about chatting. Merrill peeked around the clinic, brow furrowed, and thought perhaps she had been mistaken – this couldn't be Anders' clinic.

A phlegmy cough followed by a low groan caught her attention. Pulling her staff from her back and calling forth a tendril of magic, she made her way across the clinic to a shadowed alcove. Slowly pushing the tattered curtain aside, Merrill peeked in and saw Anders under a pile of worn blankets.

The man was shivering, skin waxy and shiny with fever. Merrill released her magic, wincing as his lungs rattled with each breath.

“By the Dread Wolf, Anders!” Merrill exclaimed, rushing to his side. “Lethallin, you are sick.”

Anders coughed again and let out a quiet moan, shifting restlessly under the covers. Letting out a sigh, Merrill placed one slim hand on the human's forehead. He was burning hot, hotter than was safe. Laying her staff against the far wall, she let out a huff of breath and went to go see what potion materials were currently in the clinic.

***

It was the quiet humming that woke Anders. He was in his bed, that much he could tell, and tucked under a small pile of blankets. Throat dry and dying of thirst, he struggled to get out from under the blankets. The humming stopped and tiny hands pressed him back.

“Ma'falon, you shouldn't sit up yet. You have been asleep for two days now.” Merrill's face appeared over his, her moss-green eyes filled with worry. “Let me get the tea.”

“What...two days?” Anders settled back, watching as the tiny elf bustled about his small room.

“I found you delirious. It was quite by accident, or maybe fate. Or maybe Mythal led my steps. I did pray to her for guidance.” Merrill stopped moving for a moment, shook herself, and then went back to pouring tea. “But the how doesn't matter. You were unconscious and very ill.”

“And you took care of me?” Anders coughed and struggled to sit back up, stopping when Merrill rushed over to rearrange his pillows so that he was propped up.

“I left you for a couple hours to get some food and my teas. And then yes, came back. I tried to find Hawke but she was out. So was Varric. I didn't want to look for Fenris, I always end up at the docks instead of his mansion. I am sorry, Anders. I didn't know what else to do so I stayed.” She poured tea, the astringent smell of mint and elfroot filling the room. A spoon of honey and she brought him the cup. “Here, drink.”

“You stayed for two days taking care of me?” Anders blinked owlishly, his brain still sluggish.

“Almost three. You slept and I poured tea and broth down your throat.” Merrill sat back down, picking up a book and opening it to a saved page. The soft humming started up again.

Anders looked at his tea and then over to the small elf. He took a cautious sip, tasting. Mint and elfroot and embrium, it tasted like. With a generous spoon of honey to help it go down. It soothed his throat and curled warm in his belly.

A small chirping noise had him looking down, two yellow eyes peering up at him. A tiny kitten, batting at the strings from the worn blankets, looked at him. “There's a cat,” Anders said, befuddled. “Do I own a cat?”

Merrill looked up and smiled, “I was in the market two days ago and saw a box of tabbies. They were so cute and I remembered how you said you wanted one. A little tabby. So I picked her out. And then I was going to go get a small collar and bell, but ended up in the docks. I was talking to this very interesting man, who told me the most amazing story about his ship, and before I knew it I was here in Darktown near your clinic. I'm still not sure how it happened. But that is a cat, yes. And I was going to surprise you with her at the next Wicked Grace night.”

“Does she have a name?” Anders asked, reaching for the tiny puff of fur.

“Well, she bit my hand twice and then clawed at me. She is very playful and will grow into a good hunter. I was calling her Da'mi, little blade. It's a term of endearment. Seemed to fit.” Merrill watched the kitten attack the blanket, little growling squeaks filling the room. “She is feisty.”

Anders tickled his finger along the kitten's head, laughing she she nipped at him. “You brought me a cat? Took care of me for two days? Made sure I ate and was alright?” He glanced over at her. “Why?”

Merrill sighed and gave him a patient look, “If you are better, I shall head home. I think. There is no telling.”

Standing and patting his leg, she gave him a wide smile, gathering her things. Anders watched her for a moment and then bit his lip, “You could stay. I'm not feeling completely well yet.”

Merrill glanced over at him, eyes wide and mouth forming a small “o” of surprise. “Do you want me to? I could read to you. I brought my book of elven lore. It has some fascinating stories in it.”

Anders snuggled back against his pillows, cup of tea in one hand and the kitten chewing on his other. Merrill gave a happy smile, sat down, and opened her book, “How about the story of Alrathan? Before the ages were named or numbered, our people were glorious and eternal and never-changing...”

**Author's Note:**

> Elven language is taken from: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language  
> Lethallin: clansman or somebody close  
> Ma'falon: My friend  
> Da'mi: little blade - an elven term of endearment.
> 
> The story of Arlathan is taken from: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Arlathan:_Part_One
> 
> You can poke me on tumblr under Warriormaggie.


End file.
